"That's very kind of you to think of me," she said. "Of course, I'd love the music, but you've forgotten that I'm taking the group to the conference that night. Aren't you going yourself? I'm sure they expect you to be there."
"Well, I did think of it. I had a curiosity to see just what it is in this young adventurer that has made him the idol of the hour, but I hadn't really expected to go, at least not for more than a few minutes, just to look in on it. There is so much claptrap about such gatherings that it gets on my nerves. When one has been doing really serious work in the realm of theology it is a little hard to bear the rantings of a radio-crooner, you know. And, of course, that was before I got the tickets for the concert, too. I wouldn't miss this concert for anything. I'm a great admirer of the orchestra."
Daphne stood silent, making no reply.
"But you needn't feel tied down by any obligation about the young people, Miss Deane," he went on. "I'll gladly absolve you from your duties in that direction. There are plenty of people who would be glad to take your place as a chaperon and leave you free. I will ask old Mr. Simmons. I'm sure he would be greatly pleased to look after them, and you know I got these tickets with you especially in mind. You have a true musician's soul, and I have greatly anticipated hearing this special symphony in your company."
Daphne spoke quickly and crisply, lifting her chin a little.
"I'm sorry," she said, "but I wouldn't miss this conference for anything. I've been praying all the week for it and have been hoping great things for the young people who are going."
"Really?" he said with a trace of amusement in his voice. "I sincerely hope you won't be disappointed. I shouldn't myself expect much good to come from anything as sensational as I hear these meetings are. I don't quite see how you can stand the strain."
"I don't know what you mean," said Daphne. "I've never felt that the meetings were sensational."
"You have heard this young preacher, then?"
"Many times!" she answered gravely. "And I know him well. He is one of the most utterly consecrated children of God I know, and his preaching is reaching thousands everywhere, and leading souls to Christ."
"Ah! Indeed? I wonder! In the ultimate reckoning those may not turn out to be real conversions after all. But--you wouldn't exactly call his ravings sermons, would you?"
He studied her face quizzically, amusedly, as if she were a mere child and must not be judged harshly.
Daphne felt herself getting angry, and she paused and drew a deep breath. Anger would never win a battle for right.
"Well," she said smiling, "having never heard him, what would you call them?"
He smiled broadly now, a bit condescendingly.
"I think that the utmost that could be said would be to call them evangelistic efforts. Even that would be stretching a point in my estimation--that is, from the standpoint of a scholar, you know."
"Well," smiled Daphne calmly, "it is sometimes a comfort to remember that the Bible says that God has hid some things from the wise and prudent and revealed them unto babes. 'Where is the wise? Where is the. . .wisdom of this world?' Though in this case it happens that the young man in question is a graduate of a rather well-known university, and also of a theological seminary, and has several scholarly degrees to his credit. However, this isn't a very profitable conversation, is it? I am wondering if it is going to rain tomorrow? Do you notice it is clouding over since we came home from prayer meeting? I hope it will be pleasant for another day. I'm planning on washing curtains tomorrow, and I do want a sunny day to dry them quickly."
"You are rather quick on the trigger, aren't you?" said the minister, still amusedly. "Are you really as unsophisticated as you try to make out?"
"Perhaps I'd better leave you to find that out, if you think it's worthwhile," she laughed, bells in her voice again and little crinkles of amusement about her eyes and nose. "I really must run in and see if my mother needs anything. She hasn't been well today, and I've been a little worried about her. There comes the moon again. Perhaps we're going to have a nice day tomorrow after all. Good night!" And Daphne turned and disappeared into the shadows of the lilac bushes that arched the walk to the door, never knowing that her good night had reached to other ears and was echoing in the heart of the young man running for his train.
Chapter 5
But Daphne did not wash curtains the next morning, though the sun was shining brightly and she had made her brother bring the curtain stretchers down from the attic and set them in position for her. She had put on a little blue print dress, one of her plainest morning dresses, and was all ready to go to work, but instead she went to answer a knock at the front door and found Keith Morrell standing humbly on the porch, an eager look in his eyes.
"Good morning!" he said. "Are you very busy? Would I be a terrible nuisance if I asked a favor of you?"
"Why, no! Of course not!" said Daphne smiling, and feeling a sudden unexplained lifting of her spirit. "Come in, won't you? That is, if you don't mind the disorder. I was just taking down the curtains to wash them."
"Perhaps you'll let me help?" he offered eagerly.
"Oh, that wouldn't be necessary," she smiled. "They come down with a touch."
"But I'd love to," he said earnestly. "And I'll feel all the more comfortable afterward to make my request, if you'll let me help. I always used to do it for Mother."
It was one of Daphne's lovely qualities that she never made a fuss about things. So now when she saw that he really meant it, she went easily forward and let him help, till all the curtains were lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.
"Thank you so much!" she said breezily. "And now, won't you sit down and tell me how I can help you?"
"Yes, just as soon as we get these out of the way," he said, gathering up the heap of soiled muslin. "Where do they go? You have to let them soak, don't you?"
"Why, how did you know?" laughed Daphne.
"Oh, Mother always did," he said, drawing a quick little breath of a sigh. "Where do I take them? Is there a laundry?"
"Yes," said Daphne, matter-of-factly, "right out this way." And she led him through the dining room and kitchen to a small laundry where the tubs stood already filled with water.
He dumped the curtains in and seemed to enjoy poking them down and making sure every corner was under water.
"Shouldn't we wash these right away?" he asked interestedly. "I'm not in a hurry."
"Oh, no, they have to soak awhile first," said Daphne. "Let's go on the side porch and talk. It's pleasant and shady there."
So she led him to a vine-clad porch where willow armchairs and tables, a few books, and a bit of sewing made it seem almost like an open-air living room.
"How cozy this is!" he said as he settled down in a big willow armchair and put his head back against a convenient cushion.
"We like it," said the girl with a quick glance around to see if the little sister who was supposed to put this room in order the first thing in the morning had done her work.
"It's a beautiful home!" said the young man wistfully. "I can't help looking back and wishing I had known it intimately when I was growing up."
"That's nice of you," said Daphne, giving him a swift glance to make sure he meant it. "I wish you had. It would have been nice for us."
Their eyes met, and a warm glance passed between them.
"I've missed a lot," he said thoughtfully as he studied her more closely. Then with another bit of a sigh, he smiled and added: "Well, now I'd better get to my errand. I have to go over to my old home and look around to see just how things are, and I was wondering if you would consider it an imposition for me to ask you to go with me? I haven't been back since Mother left me, and I thought it would be pleasant to have somebody with me."
There was a look of a hungry little boy in his eyes that appealed at once to Daphne.
"Why, of course!" she said, springing up with a light in her eyes. "It will be wonderful! Just wait a minute till I can make myself a little more respec
table for going out."
"Please don't go and doll up," he pleaded, rising and taking a step toward her. "It's just a dusty old house, you know, and I think you look wonderful just as you are."
His voice was very genuine, and it brought the bright color to her cheeks.
"Thank you!" she said lightly. "I appreciate the compliment. But I'll just put on a clean collar, if you don't mind. We have a neighbor who would sound it abroad if I went out, even across the street, looking like this. I'll be with you in just a minute."
She was back in almost the allotted minute with a fresh, crisp wisp of organdy rolling back from the neck of her blue dress, and her hair satin-smooth.
"Now," she said, her eyes starry, "I feel as if I were about to step into real fairyland!"
"I'm afraid you will be disappointed," he said, looking down at her admiringly. "The house has stood uncared for a long time and everything must be frightfully dusty, although I think Mother did have covers put over the furniture before she went away. It seems to me I remember talk about it."
"It won't make any difference to me," said the girl eagerly. "I shall be seeing it with eyes of younger days, and it will be all glorified."
Keith Morrell's eyes expressed his admiration, though he made no immediate reply.
They went out the back way together, through a little gate that dated back to gardener days in the Morrell family. The young man helped the girl over the garden wall, to the great edification of Mrs. Gassner, who never missed any unusual happening on their quiet street.
Daphne stopped for a moment at the top of the three steps that led down to the garden and looked across the tangle of color that had grown up according to its own sweet will, blue phlox and cowslips; candytuft and columbine, pink and white and blue; coral bells and violets, growing together in an arrangement all their own, peering out brightly through masses of clambering honeysuckle vines and old-fashioned yellow roses.
"I came so far once to get Ted's ball when he was a little fellow," she said. "Mother wouldn't allow him to come in after it himself, lest he might harm something. It was breathlessly beautiful I remember. And over there, there was a pansy bed, all purple and gold, and velvety brown and orange. And there was a fountain just beyond."
"That's right!" said the young man, leading her down an overgrown path. "It's right over here. Seems dreadful, doesn't it, having the garden all messed up like this? I didn't realize. You see there's never been a caretaker since Tim Maxon died. It didn't seem important to me then to have one. Mother was very sick, and I knew she wouldn't be with me long. And afterward--well, it just didn't occur to me again. I'm sorry."
It was almost as if he were apologizing to her.
"But it's all here! See, there's a yellow pansy, and a purple one peeking out from this cover of shrubs. Poor thing! You want some air and sunshine, don't you?" She stopped and pulled the branches back, scratching the dead leaves away, pulling out a weed or two, and lo, a brave little pansy plant stood forth.
Morrell knelt beside her and helped, putting back a briar out of her way, and pulling up some strong weeds that had taken possession.
"It wouldn't be hard to bring it back to order again," said the girl. "It would be fun! I'd like to do it!"
"So would I," said Morrell. "I wish I had time to stay. I must certainly get someone to look out for it--that is--if I keep it!"
"Oh!" said the girl, drawing in her breath as if his words had hurt her.
His hand lingered beside hers, just touched it among the warm earth and leaves, and something like a flame seemed to pass between them. All at once, he deliberately laid his hand over hers, gently.
"Would you care?" he asked softly. "Would it mean anything to you if I sold it?"
She lifted questioning eyes, suddenly clouded.
"Oh, yes, I couldn't help but care," she said honestly, looking into his eyes. "But of course--I've no right--" She dropped her gaze to the pansy bed again.
"I'm not so sure!" he said meditatively, clasping her hand more strongly and suddenly rising and bringing her up with him. "Last night Miss Lynd was telling me how she loved the old house and garden, loved looking at it and remembering; and it came to me that perhaps the old house owed something to its friends and neighbors, something intangible, just by being there--"
He looked down at her with that question in his eyes. He was still holding her hand warmly with the soft bits of earth clinging between their clasp, and his eyes searched hers as if he would read his answer in them. Daphne, who did not make a practice of letting young men hold her hand, never thought about this. It seemed a kind of holy clasp, a culmination of the beautiful relation that had always been in fancy between the old house and her little life and interests.
"Why--that is a beautiful thought," said Daphne slowly, and then her keen mind seeing clearly through she added: "But of course there's no obligation like that!"
"Isn't there?" He said it with a troubled smile, suddenly dropping his clasp of her hand and taking her arm quietly, to lead her forward. "I'm not sure. I'll have to think it through."
She walked quietly by his side, his hand holding her arm, and Mrs. Gassner, from the vantage point of a second-story back window, watched them carefully and murmured, "I wonder--!"
There were little flowers peeking out from old borders, nodding for recognition as they passed, but the two walked on silently, strange new thoughts going through their minds, and Daphne wondered at herself to be walking so familiarly with the son of this house, the young man who had always stood to her as some great personage whom she would never know but in fancy.
They came at last to stand on the wide veranda that ran across the front of the house and gave onto the terrace below. The tall white pillars rose nobly to support the roof far above, and they both instinctively looked up.
"It needs painting," said the young owner, looking troubled again. "Father would never have let it get to looking this way, I am sure." It was as if he were thinking aloud.
He fitted the key into the lock and threw the door wide open. The sunlight flung a path of brightness over the hall floor and part way up the wide old staircase.
"Oh, it is wonderful!" said Daphne, one hand up at her throat in her excitement. "It is just as I dreamed it would be!"
She lifted her face and followed the winding of the lovely old staircase, with its sweeping curve of mahogany rail and fine white spindles. She looked at the staircase, and the young man looked at her, seeing her beauty as he had not yet seen it, his heart warming to her appreciation of his old home.
They presently went on into the house.
The rugs were rolled up and wrapped in brown paper, lying along the walls, the furniture was shrouded in cotton coverings, the pictures veiled in white.
"It looks like the ghost of my past," said Keith Morrell in a sad tone. "I was afraid it would be like this."
He went to the front windows, snapped up the shades, unlocked the sash and flung them up. Then he unfastened the blinds, throwing them open, and the sunlight rushed in.
"There! That is better!" he said with a sigh, and impatiently reached out and pulled off the coverings from a couple of chairs.
"Sit down," he invited grimly. "It's not a very pleasant habitation."
"Oh, but the spaciousness! The vistas!" exclaimed Daphne, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. "I love it! Such beautiful rooms! How wonderful to have lived in a place like this!"
"I wish you could have seen it as it was!" said the boy sorrowfully. "My mother always had everything beautiful about her."
"I'm sure!" said the girl, reaching out her hand and touching delicately the upholstery of beautiful old tapestry. "I know there must be things here one could study and enjoy for many a day."
"I suppose so," sighed the son of the house. "I really never thought much about them. There are some fine paintings, I know."
He flung aside one of the coverings and then another, and revealed rich coloring, handsome settings of gold frames. A ship at sea.
A street in the Orient with towers and mosques. A great cathedral.
"Oh," said Daphne. "Things I have read about and always wanted to see!"
"I always liked the Rheims cathedral," he said, watching the glow on her face. "I'm not sure but it gave me my taste for architecture."
They went about from picture to picture, his eyes watching hers, as he drank in their beauty.
"But you ought not to uncover all these things for me," she said. "They'll all have to be covered up again."
"I like to," he said. "It is good to see them again."
He strode over to the south window.
"This was Mother's desk," he said, flinging aside the cover. "Here she used to sit and write letters. But when I would come home from school she would always stop to greet me and hear my news, no matter how busy she was--"
His face was tender now with memories, and Daphne's heart swelled with sympathy for him.
"Your smile reminds me of hers," he said slowly, more as if he were just thinking aloud.
"Oh!" she said. "I'm glad! That's dear, to think I could remind you of her."
He turned quickly away to hide some emotion and went over to uncover the piano.
"That was her piano," he said, his voice husky with feeling. "How I loved her touch. She was a real musician. Do you play? I thought I saw a piano over at your house. Sit down and try it. It's probably out of tune."
He drew the piano stool out and placed it for her, and she sat down, her fingers running softly over the keys. He saw that she played well.
"It's not bad at all," she said, "after all these years of standing idle in an unused house! It's wonderful!"
Her fingers rippled into a Chopin nocturne, and he dropped into a chair and watched, his heart filled with inexpressible longings.
"You are a musician, too," he said, when she finally swung around to him and smiled.